


If I Only Had A Brain

by astrangerfate, orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Discipline, Other, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-22
Updated: 2007-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 18:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangerfate/pseuds/astrangerfate, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam didn’t really believe his brother was as stupid as he appeared. He knew that most of it was an act. It was just Dean’s way of appearing disarming so that he could observe and evaluate everything going on around them. He knew Dean could have done anything with his life if he’d put his mind to it. And most of the time, Sam could see past the attitude and inappropriate smile to glimpse the man underneath—tough, yes, and smart, and more fragile than he’d like to admit.</p><p>Sometimes, though, Sam looked past it all to see absolutely nothing. In his pretense of idiotic single-mindedness, Dean slipped completely into his role. And though Sam knew that his brother was better than that, knew that it was just a fluke, he couldn’t help but wonder why Dean was being such a dumbass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Only Had A Brain

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gen discipline fic, and does contain the spanking of a 26-year-old Dean Winchester by his brother. If you don't like, for God's sake, don't read.
> 
> I own nothing, as ever.
> 
> This story also contains non-sexual crossdressing for a case.

Sam didn’t really believe his brother was as stupid as he appeared. He knew that most of it was an act. It was just Dean’s way of appearing disarming so that he could observe and evaluate everything going on around them. He knew Dean could have done anything with his life if he’d put his mind to it. And most of the time, Sam could see past the attitude and inappropriate smile to glimpse the man underneath—tough, yes, and smart, and more fragile than he’d like to admit.

Sometimes, though, Sam looked past it all to see absolutely nothing. In his pretense of idiotic single-mindedness, Dean slipped completely into his role. And though Sam knew that his brother was better than that, knew that it was just a fluke, he couldn’t help but wonder why Dean was being such a dumbass.

SAN FRANCISCO AND BAY AREA: TWO DAYS EARLIER

Dean was rereading the eyewitness account, shaking his head. Sam tried to ignore the whispered words. Dean always had a problem about reading, and thinking, out loud. “clothes torn, then blood everywhere…Dammit, what sort of a succubus—?”

Sam clicked another link, frowned, then quickly started typing. It _didn’t_ make sense to have a succubus knifing victims. It was so crude and unfeminine. Scrolling down, he saw what he was looking for.

“Dean, take a look at this. I don’t think it’s a succubus at all, I think it’s just a ghost,” said Sam, pushing the computer over to his brother.

“Vengeful spirit.” Dean skimmed the article hastily. “Kathleen Elisabeth Murphy, 24 years old…raped and stabbed…died at the hospital… yeah, that sounds like it could be her,” he admitted. “They give an address, let’s go talk to her roommate.”

“You’re sure you can handle this?” Dean asked again as they made their way to the on-campus apartment. Sam rolled his eyes.

“I was at Stanford, Dean. Berkeley’s a completely different world.”

“I know, just making sure,” Dean said innocently. “Because, I mean, if I have to interview the coed all by myself, I can totally handle it.”

Sam didn’t even dignify this with a response, instead leaning past his brother to ring the doorbell.

A petite blonde wearing paint-splattered overalls answered the door, slightly out of breath. Sam noticed she had opened it with her hand wrapped in a rag. The paint was still wet.

“Erin Caldwell?” he asked bluntly before Dean could make a lewd comment about painting and artists.

“Yes,” she said hesitantly, keeping the door partially between them. Sam flashed his badge. “I’m Detective Phil Lesh and this is my partner, Detective Mickey Hart,” he said, ignoring Dean’s glare. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about Kathleen Murphy.”

“Lena?” she asked.

“That’s right. May we come in?”

“Okay,” she said, opening the door and standing aside. “I mean, I answered some questions two months ago, but sure. Hope you don’t mind that the place is a mess.”

“Not at all,” said Sam, glancing cautiously at Dean as they stepped onto the tarp laid out over the floor. But Dean remained quiet, although Sam thought he detected a little sulkiness, probably the result of Sam’s introduction.

Erin smiled apologetically as she cleared off a space on the sofa. “Again, I’m really sorry that the place is such a mess,” she said sweetly, turning her charm on Dean. She wasn’t really his type though, and Dean gave her the fake smile that was Sam’s cue to respond.

“That’s fine, ma’am, we know you weren’t expecting us,” Sam said when Dean failed to respond. They seated themselves on the couch, while the redhead perched delicately on the arm of a chair, as the seat was covered with a dripping canvas.

“So what did you want to ask me about Lena?” Erin asked, still directing her questions at Dean. Sam kicked his brother sharply in the ankle, and Dean’s face broke into a wide grin.

“Well…how long had you roomed together, Miss Caldwell?” Dean asked.

“Please, call me Erin,” she said, and waited for Dean to repeat the name before answering the question. “Just two months, since school started. But she didn’t have anyone else, really, so I’m the one who they called.”

Dean nodded. “I know you were asked before, but do you recall any more man trouble that Miss Murphy might have had?”

Erin shook her head slowly. “No, just her one ex-boyfriend. But you’ve already cleared him, right? And you think it was a stranger?”

“That’s right,” Dean agreed. He leaned in a little closer, evidently falling into his role. “And, tell me, Erin, what did you do with the body?” Sam was momentarily amused that Dean could make a question about a corpse sound so sexy, but all the amusement vanished when he heard the girl’s response.

“Oh, Lena was an organ donor,” she said brightly. “And they gave the rests of her ashes to me, at the hospital. They’re in the flowerpots in that window behind you.”

  
***

“Shit!” Sam said emphatically, slamming the door of the Impala.

“Dude, don’t slam the doors,” Dean said angrily. Then, as an afterthought, “And the Dead, man? In the Bay Area?”

“Do you know what this means?’ Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. “Okay, so it’s a little more complicated than your average grave-digging. But I’m sure the hospital has records of who her organs went to, so we can track them down and…shit.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Sam said, groaning with frustration. “We can’t salt and burn organs when they’re inside other people, Dean!”

“Yeah, but we can’t let that crazy bitch go around killing people on Saturday nights!” Dean snapped. He frowned. “Okay, we need to get a list of the people who have her organs, and tell them there’s been a mistake and they need another transfer…”

“It doesn’t work like that, Dean,” said Sam, wishing they’d never heard about this haunting.

“Well then what do you think we should do, college boy?” Dean asked angrily.

Sam sighed. “Remember Molly McNamara?” he asked. His brother frowned slightly.

“That girl, right? Who died in the car accident?”

“That’s the one,” Sam said. He knew what Dean’s reaction would be, and he wasn’t disappointed.

“Look, Sam, it’s one thing to convince someone to say goodbye to her husband. It’s another to try and convince a pissed-off spirit to stop raping and murdering every man at Pier 14 on Saturday nights.”

“Well, that’s all college boy has to offer,” Sam said. “If we can get her to talk, maybe we can convince her to move on.”

“Jesus, it’s like I’m married to Patricia Arquette, except we’re not married and you’re not hot.”

Sam sighed. “Just stop trying, Dean. It wasn’t even funny the first time.”

“Not even a little funny?” Dean asked hopefully.

Sam shook his head. “You’re losing your touch.”

“Dammit.”

They drove on in silence for a moment before Dean spoke again. “Okay, but if it murders us first and asks questions later, what’s going to happen?”

Sam opened his mouth to speak, then realized he had nothing to say to that. “I…don’t know,” he admitted, ready to hear Dean’s scornful laugh. “The one witness said she killed her boyfriend pretty instantaneously.”

“So, sweet little Lena’s going around and pulling a quick one on any men in the area,” Dean said. “But the only witness—a girl—survives. She’s only going after men, because she wasn’t raped by a woman. You know what that means.”

“We’re dead if we go near her?” Sam asked.

“Not quite,” Dean corrected. “We’re dead if Dean and Sam go near her. But Samantha… well, Samantha might be able to talk to her.”

“Oh, no. Oh, hell, no,” Sam said, shaking his head.

“Oh, hell, yes,” Dean corrected. “One of us has gotta do it, unless you figure we can call up Jo Harvelle and considering what you did the last time you saw her I’m not counting that as an option.”

“I was possessed,” Sam muttered, feeling his face grow hot. Stupid Dean, he knew it wasn’t Sam’s fault. But he’d socked him for it anyway…anger management issues.

“Anyway, we need a female and I’d never cut it. You would,” said Dean.

Sam couldn’t even begin to imagine where Dean had come up with the idea of his little brother cross-dressing realistically. “Dude, I’m 6’4”, remember?” he said. He still couldn’t keep the disgust out of his voice, but also knew that in all likelihood Dean wouldn’t let up.

“So? That chick on _American Idol_ was 6’7” and she still looked like a girl.”

It was better not to ask, just to let it go in the hopes that Dean would shut up, but he couldn’t stop the whine. “If you’re watching _American Idol_ then you’re the chick, not me.”

“With this sexy stubble? No way,” said Dean, self-assured. “You, on the other hand, you’re damn pretty. For a really andro guy. You remember Folsom?”

“I’m not cross-dressing, Dean.”

Dean smacked his hand on the dashboard, obviously frustrated. “Well, hell, Sam, we know who’s killing these men. We know she’ll be out at Pier 14 at eleven tomorrow night. We know how she died and you can do your whole John Edward thing and tell her to back off. But you can’t if she kills you first.”

“You just want pictures,” Sam growled, angry because he knew Dean was right, couldn’t think of any other way, and knew he would do it, because someone had to.

“Damn straight,” said Dean, grinning.

And Sam opened his mouth to call his brother a jerk, realized what that would lead to and clamped it shut again.

“You’re buying the makeup,” he warned. Dean smiled and started whistling.

“Dude, is that from _The Wizard of Oz_?” Sam asked suspiciously.

“Yeah,” said Dean. “You know the song, they’re singing about If I Only Had A Brain and If I Only Had A Heart. It seemed appropriate. Except, you know, there’s the liver too, and the kidneys, and the gallbladder….”

Sam wondered sometimes why God didn’t smite his brother for disrespect. Then again, John Winchester had never had a problem filling in for him.

***

Sam tried not to be disturbed by Dean’s expertise in the application of false eyelashes. Tried, but didn’t succeed very well. He chose to ignore the whole idea, forgoing it to focus on his pants. At least it isn’t a skirt, he kept telling himself, but the skinny legs chafed and the careful rip had forced him to shave one knee. He was never going to hear the end of this.

“Well, you clean up pretty good,” Dean said, whistling and looking smugger than Sam had ever seen him. ‘Now smile for the camera.”

He took out his cell phone and snapped a nice shot of Sam glaring. “Bite me,” Sam said. He knew Dean would be pulling it out to show Bobby and Ellen and the random girls in the bars. It would be the crowning piece of his collection of awkward photos. “It’s 9:40, so we should probably be heading down there,” he said.

“Right,” said Dean. Then, after a pause, “You know, it’s still kind of early, and there’s this one bar down the street that has a contest on Saturday nights for—”

“No.” Sam’s voice was as deadly as he could make it, and Dean took the hint.

“Right,” he said. “I’ll drive since you’re wearing those heels.”

The drive was short, because Dean had splurged with the new credit card and gotten a hotel close to the bay. They arrived at Pier 14 with an hour to spare.

“You know what, Sam, it’s probably not a good idea for me to be around because I could get knifed,” said Dean frankly, and Sam gave his brother a look.

“You just want to go back to Pier 39 and get another one of those disgusting gourmet hot dogs,” he said, gagging at the memory

“No, I want at least two,” Dean contradicted. “I’ll bring you back one with extra relish. And you might want to…you know…use a higher voice.”

”You use a higher tone of voice,” Sam retorted, but he faked it a little so it came out softer, breathier.

Dean’s eyebrows quirked. “You know, that’s pretty good. Ever consider a career in phone sex?”

He ducked the punch Sam threw, laughing. “Behave yourself, you’re a lady,” he warned.

“Yeah, well, a career in phone sex would be better than this,” Sam muttered, staring out at the dark water. He could see why this was considered the best place to get a picture of the bridge, but it was deserted now. The murders had been highly publicized.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling cold and stiff and wishing he had a jacket to put over his thin blouse, with the gel-filled bra inside. “Just crap,” he muttered, forgetting to alter his tone but not really caring.

A moment later, the streetlamp started flickering. Sam held his breath, waiting for the ghost of Kathleen Murphy to appear. He wasn’t disappointed.

She was pale, a bruise on one cheek darkened to purple, and her eyes were shadowed with sadness. He tried to avert his eyes from the blood staining her white blouse.

“Lena!” Sam called in his most girly voice, and she met his eyes.

“Where is he?” she asked, hate filling her voice. “Where is that son of a bitch?”

“The man who killed you,” Sam replied gently.

“Yes. I am going to make him die screaming,” she said, intensity charging the air.

“He’s not coming back,” Sam said. “You won’t find him here, Lena. He’s gone.”

“All men are the same,” she said suddenly, advancing on Sam quickly and purposefully. “You should remember that. All men deserve to die.”

“That’s not true, Lena,” Sam said quietly. “I know you’ve been hurt, very badly, but not everyone’s like that.”

And suddenly she was right beside him, taking his chin in her hands and twisting it so he had no choice but to look her in the eyes. “You want to know something, darling?” she asked, but at that moment Dean’s voice rang out.

“Hey!” he called, and Lena whirled around, only to be greeted by a shot of rock salt aimed at her chest.

She writhed, shrieked and disappeared.

Sam immediately pulled his own gun out from under his billowing blouse, and they waited for almost ten minutes.

“It’s no good, she’s gone, Dean,” Sam said finally, smacking his fist against the railing in disgust. “Why the hell did you shoot her?”

“Because she had her fucking hands around your throat!” Dean exclaimed.

“I was handling it, Dean!” Sam snapped. “Do you have any idea how much you just screwed that one up?” He couldn’t believe it. She was gone, just like that. God knows when she'd be coming back, where she’d be going next…

“She was going to—” Dean began hotly, but Sam cut him off.

“We’re not talking about this right now. We’re going back to the hotel, I’m getting out of those goddamn clothes, and then we’re talking,” he said, pushing past Dean to walk as quickly as he could to the Impala. He knew that Dean would be half-jogging to keep up with his shorter legs, and the thought only made him walk faster.

“Bitch,” he heard Dean mutter, and that was the last straw. If he’d been wearing his own pants, he might have laughed it off. But not now, not like this.

“Shut the hell up, Dean!” he yelled. “I’m angry enough already without you making it worse for yourself!” He stopped briefly, saw by the blank look on Dean’s face that they were equally surprised. Taking advantage of his brother’s shock, he decided to keep up the orders. “And give me the keys, I’m driving.”

***

Back at the hotel, Sam scrubbed his face with record attention, removing every trace of makeup. He finally gave it one last brush with the hand-towel and turned to face his brother. Dean was sitting on his bed, unnaturally quiet.

“What the hell did you think you were doing back there, Dean?” Sam asked angrily.

“I don’t know, saving your ass maybe?” Dean retorted, but Sam could tell by the look on his face that he was kicking himself for letting the spirit escape.

“I had the situation under control, Dean,” he said sharply, watching his brother’s eyes. Dean looked tired, regretful and slightly embarrassed. “We had a plan, I was sticking to it and you just showed up and started firing. Thanks to you, that spirit’s still out there!”

“Look, I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry,” Dean said in a pissy voice.

“Yeah, and Dad would have blistered your ass for it,” Sam shot back, watching carefully for his brother’s reaction.

“And that really matters…why?” Dean asked, but underneath the smartass he was still distracted, still guilty.

“Because now I’m going to do it,” Sam said firmly, making up his mind in that instant. It was obvious that Dean felt like shit for doing something that stupid, and it had always worked for Dad….

Dean flared up. “Like hell you are, Sammy, I’m the one in charge here!”

“If I screwed up a hunt of yours would you just let it go?” Sam asked. Dean didn’t respond immediately. “Thought so,” he muttered, more to himself, then pulled the wooden chair away from the hotel desk and sat down in it. “Come here, Dean.”

Dean stared at him but didn’t move.

“If I have to come get you it’s not going to be fun,” Sam continued. “I’m giving you to the count of five. One.”

Dean raised one eyebrow, gave a condescending smile.

“Two.” Sam wasn’t buying his brother’s crap, not for a minute. Dean needed this and he knew it. “Three.”

“I’m not going over there, Sammy,” Dean warned. “What makes you think you can make me?”

“I’m taller,” Sam said matter-of-factly. “Four. Five.” There wasn’t much of a pause between four and five, he admitted, but it was obvious that Dean was hell-bent on doing this the hard way.

He sighed heavily, got to his feet and strode over to the bed. Before Dean could move—not that Sam thought he would—he found himself slung over his brother’s shoulder.

Sam grunted at the weight, but hauled Dean back to the chair and stood him upright.

“Dude…get your hands off me, you know you’re not my type,” Dean said weakly.

“Can it, Dean,” said Sam, sitting down and hooking his thumbs into Dean’s waistband. He tugged his brother a little closer, mildly surprised but extremely relieved that Dean didn’t appear to be fighting him. “You know you deserve this,” he said, moving his fingers to Dean’s zipper and starting to take down his pants.

Dean flinched. “Dude, this is just wrong,” he said, still not resisting. “We should talk this over…”

“Oh, we will,” Sam assured him, pulling until the jeans rested mid-thigh. “Starting with this.” He yanked Dean’s arm, causing the older boy to topple awkwardly over his lap. Going by instinct and years of being the recipient of a spanking, Sam repositioned Dean until his bottom was at an accessible angle. Raising his hand and taking a deep breath, he brought it down on his brother’s bottom with a smack.

Dean exhaled sharply but made no sounds. Sam smacked again, harder, still expecting Dean to wrestle off his lap and start pounding him in traditional older brother fashion. But Dean just lay there.

Sam spanked his brother again, and again, falling into a sort of rhythm. Dean’s breathing came shallower, faster. He should be remembering his training, Sam thought, he’s not breathing right, he won’t be able to keep it up. But, bringing his hand down again, he realized that he was never really concerned with his breathing exercises while being spanked.

After another few smacks, Dean let out a grunt and Sam decided that the punishment was starting to sink in. “So, Dean, why am I spanking you?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from sounding too pompous and like their father.

“Cause you’re a heartless bitch,” Dean said snarkily.

“No, cause you’re a brainless idiot,” Sam said sharply, his hand landing on the seat of Dean’s underwear, near the tops of his thighs. “You just jumped in there and started shooting after we’d already agreed on a plan. She wasn’t going to attack me and if you’d left well enough alone she could be gone by now.”

“Geez, I’m sorry, okay?” said Dean, and Sam could tell his voice was tight, trying not to crack.

“You should be,” said Sam. “You ruined our entire hunt, Dean. Thanks to you I was in drag all night for nothing.” Okay, that was the wrong thing to say. He was certain that Dean’s suspicious shakes had more to do with suppressed laughter than pain and apology.

He decided to switch tactics. “You know, Dean, this spirit’s already killed four men. If its pattern was interrupted, it could take months to track it down again, or we could never track it down. You’re a smart guy, you know better than to make a novice mistake like that.” That was hitting Dean in the ego, the should-have-known better, and it worked. Dean stiffened over Sam’s lap, and Sam decided it was time to take the spanking to the next level.

“You knew you deserved to be punished for that. It was a damn stupid thing to do and Dad would have tanned your hide. But you didn’t accept that.” His costume was still lying on the desk. He picked up the girl’s belt—lime green with butterflies stitched on it—and folded it in half.

“So, Dean, this is for not coming when I told you to,” he explained, bringing the belt down at the crease of Dean’s thighs. Dean bucked, pushing himself forward over Sam’s lap. Sam didn’t mind, however, as this only presented a better target. He brought the belt down again, wrapping his other arm around Dean’s waist to keep him in place. Dean grunted heavily.

Pleased with this success, Sam smacked the belt across his brother’s rear end another four times. Dean’s stiff body went limp, and his shoulders started shaking again. Although he hadn’t made another sound, Sam was fairly certain that Dean wasn’t laughing anymore.

Four more smacks marked the end of the spanking, and Sam dropped the belt on the floor in front of Dean’s face. They remained in that position for a moment, until Dean spoke hoarsely. “You done, Sammy?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said. Den stood up slowly, pulled his jeans back up over his throbbing cheeks. There was an awkward silence and Sam noticed the brightness of his brother’s green eyes.

“I—you’re right, Sammy,” Dean said finally. “I did a stupid-ass thing and I needed that.”

“It’s cool,” said Sam. “I know you’d do the same for me.”

“Oh, any time, little brother, any time,” said Dean evilly.

“And besides,” Sam said, “your punishment isn’t over yet.”

A look of alarm crossed Dean’s face. “What do you mean?” he asked, licking dry lips.

“We’re going to have to see if we can get her next Saturday, and this time you’re the one cross-dressing.”


End file.
